Wicked Game
by Miss-Murdered
Summary: Trowa knows that he risks everything playing a dangerous game with Duo. He just wishes he knew how to quit it. 2x3x2
1. Bring Your Love

Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'

Pairings/Warnings: 2x3x2, 3x5, m/m sex, angst, bad language, implied drug use, cheating, some violence of the not too explicit variety

A/N: Apologies for an extra update from me this week as today is one of my good friends, Amberly's birthday and I promised her a little 2x3 fic. However… I wrote her a little 2x3 one-shot that then became a 5 part multipart. So this fic will be updated on my "usual" days of Tuesday/Thursday after today for two weeks.

So happy birthday Amberly! And thanks to ELLE for her super speedy beta-ing as this got out of hand… *shakes head at muse*

Inspired by the song _Wicked Game_ by the Weeknd.

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**Chapter One**

**Bring Your Love**

Tonight is the night we pretend – you pretend that you love me and I pretend that you're mine. You're grinding your ass against my groin, you have one hand lodged in the back of my hair, holding my head close to your neck, and the other keeps running down my thigh as you dance against me, hot and tight. It's a shitty club but the music's loud enough to lose ourselves in and it's busy enough that we can imitate fucking on the dance floor and no one will see us.

I slide my fingers down your well-worn jeans, put my hands into your pocket, drawing you closer even though you're already so fucking close. The smell of your hair, the touch of your body is intoxicating to me as you continue fluidly moving your body back into mine. I think about pulling apart the zipper of your jeans, jerking you off in the dim light, but your pants are too fucking tight and I want it later – just us and some shit motel room, when I can have you all to myself like I don't often get.

'It's only tonight' – that message, those words and I'm following you to some club, letting you buy us cheap vodka that burns a trail down our throats and then we're dancing. Shit – you're dancing. I feel like I'm just here for you to dance against. Not that I care, I'm a little drunk, a little high and I let you do whatever the fuck you want. Me? I have you for one night and I'm going to take you all.

I don't feel the guilt now though I know there's someone sleeping at home, someone that believes in honesty and justice and is far too fucking good for me but as soon as you said you were on _this_colony in L3, I was following your damn instructions as I wanted to touch and taste and fuck you.

"You got a gun or you happy to see me?" you say, turning in my arms, that wicked smirk on your face as I lean to kiss you.

"A gun," I answer as our lips part but your hand is rubbing at my crotch and I slide my hands to your ass, drawing you close enough that we are connected from chest to where I'm fucking hard for you – pleased to feel that you are for me, too.

"Naw, I think you're hard for me baby. Wanna bail?"

I don't answer you, only stop your teasing hand and we're leaving the club and the smell and sweat of all those damn bodies. We walk to the nearest cheap motel – this is a bad fucking colony, they're easy to come by – and you buy smokes and liquor from a nearby convenience store as I pay for a room for the night. I think briefly about only paying for a few hours as I will leave you, dressing in the quiet, and you'll be lying there, smoking, but instead I pay for the whole night so you can sleep there once I go back to him. I owe you that much.

I think for a moment as I hand cash to some overweight guy behind the counter that I should be thinking about Wufei. He always thought it'd be Quatre out of any of us. Never thought it would be you. Guess we both hid it well enough – but then you'd always been a stealth expert and few people saw through my mask so shit, you were the perfect one for me. The one who walks into the cheap-ass, stained lobby with a brown paper bag and a look on your face that I wanted to wipe off right now – pinning you against the nearest wall. Instead, I take the key on the cheap plastic fob and lead you to our room for the night.

The motel room is as uninteresting as any other and I don't look at it. Instead I'm pushing you up against the door, grinding into you, sliding my hands to the zipper of your tight-ass jeans, unzipping them with the impatience of it being to fucking long.

Your pants are always too tight as I reach inside, past your boxers, stroking you, kissing you, wanting to inhale you. You mouth and bite at my neck, shaking my damn foundations, and I'm grabbing you, wanting to feel nothing but you, the taste of cheap booze and the adrenalin of fucking you into the mattress.

The tumble to the bed is inelegant, stupid as you are all about stealth and damn graceful movement and I have balance and poise from all those times in front of a crowd but I barely care as you pin me to the bed, straddle me, grab the bottle from the brown paper and open the cheap vodka. You offer me a sip and I lean up to take it, you pouring it into my mouth, sharp enough to make me choke as it dribbles down my chin.

I don't think about your intent as you move the bottle, chase the alcohol down my jaw and neck, the stubble of a few days on my chin, and fuck – you lick and nip and bite, lapping it up. I reach to touch your head and wrap your braid around my hand as you open the buttons of my shirt, parting the fabric against my chest, my breathing too fast just from touching you after so long.

It has to be so long as I can't see you. Not just because of him – but because I should arrest you as I damn well know why you're on L3. I know it was you behind the scope of that sniper rifle and I can't help but wonder if you felt good when you pulled the trigger, watching his head explode into red mist.

But you don't let me think about that, opening my shirt further, pouring vodka across my chest, lapping it up, leaving my stomach muscles quivering until you are at my jeans, setting aside the vodka as you find the gun holster and pull out the standard issue Preventer weapon.

"They give you a shitty weapon," you say and you check the barrel, the chamber, before you lean over and slide the metal over the rough stubble on my jaw, the cold making me jolt. "Prev should really give their bestest and brightest some real toys to play with."

"Sniper rifle better?" I say back and you grin, digging the gun into my cheek.

"Hell yeah."

And I reach up then, dislodge the weapon from your grip, my hand tight around your wrist as I buck up into you. I roll you over, so you're underneath me, and you only smirk up at me. I kiss that smirk off your face, run my fingers over a tight cotton tee and down to your cock, roughly tugging at you as our teeth clash and our noses knock and we share the taste of that damn vodka.

Our clothes don't matter. I'll fuck you half-dressed but I help you out of those jeans and I push up that t-shirt, mouthing at your abs as I remove my belt. I fumble my jeans down far enough before sitting back on my heels a moment as I locate my wallet for a condom and lube, a sachet in the folds of the wallet as I knew the moment you'd called that this is where we'd end up – me between your legs and you looking up at me like that – half-lidded with that small smirk on your face.

I still know your body despite the time we spend apart – the scars, the marks – and I still know how to touch you, how to slide my fingers inside you, make you gasp and thrash your head, pull on my damn hair and reach for my shoulders.

"Don't fuckin' tease, baby."

And I would – if this was a regular thing, if this wasn't all artifice and pretend, if it wasn't smoke and cheap alcohol. But it is and so I don't tease. Instead, I thrust into you hard, harder than I would ever do with him as you take it, demand it. Fuck, rough sex is all us, and that's why I came when you called. You blew someone's brains out today and you need someone to fuck you. Drink with you. Smoke with you. Someone to forget with you and I'm willing to be that person.

Too damn fucking willing.

"You feel good," you tell me and I grunt, touching you, my hand on your dick, sliding up and down it as I bite at your pulse and I roll my hips into yours.

Each thrust is hot, slick, and I know you make me lose control too quickly – but we'll smoke, finish the vodka, maybe score something and get high together and then fuck again in the haze of cigarettes and the buzz of whatever street drug we can get a hold of. I do everything that is the opposite of who I'm meant to be with you because with you I'm not a decorated Preventer – I'm the man I can't be with anyone else as I mouth at your skin, creating my marks with teeth and lips, fisting your cock in my hand.

You pull me close with your arms and legs, your body making me speed up by thrusting to meet each motion of my hips, and you don't say my name, only those "fucks" and "baby's" you always damn give me, your nails running red down my back.

I come, my hand faltering on you, and you push at my head, sliding down your body to suck your cock. You push at my hair as I taste you in my mouth, your body jerking, thrusting up – me tasting cum on my tongue.

We both slide away from each other. I swipe the arm of my shirt against my mouth. You grab the vodka, I grab the smokes. I remove the rest of my damn clothes, naked now, and I lean against the headboard, you moving to sit between my legs, lying back against my chest as you grab a cigarette, lighting one with a matchbook from a bar, taking a drag before offering it to me and opening the bottle to take a sip.

"I should damn arrest you," I say and you laugh, steal the cigarette back.

"You won't though – you only get tonight."

I grunt in response, move the braid over your chest, breathe in the scent of your skin, my nose in your shoulder as I know I only get tonight and that in the early hours of the morning I'll be home with a man I try to love while remembering you.

So tonight I'll love you as tomorrow... Shit. Tomorrow you'll be gone.


	2. Only for Tonight

**Chapter Two**

**Only for Tonight**

The bar is a dive that I've never been to. Located in darkness and back alleys, the old jukebox plays some song I don't know and the room is filled with smoke, the low lighting making the whole place seem small, dark, oppressive. It seems appropriate for you. For me. For tonight. I spot you, leaning over a pool table, the braid trailing down your back and I scan up and down your body, feeling something in my mouth go dry.

You're back and I knew it as I'd seen the body.

The body looked like all the others I'd ever seen. There's no artistry or elegance in death the way people like to romanticise. There's only blood and dead flesh and parts of brains on white plush carpets. He'd been a rising star politician and a sniper's bullet had obliterated his potential and at the crime scene and I'd stood at the window where the bullet had entered and figured out where you'd shot from. And I'd imagined you, crouched, waiting, biding your time for the moment to act and then firing the single, perfect shot, a body crumpling to the ground. I knew we wouldn't find any evidence, not from you. Even when we went to the room in the large apartment complex opposite, there was no sign you'd been there. You'd slipped away. Like you always did.

Though not now. Now you were in my sights as you straightened up, as you took a swig from a glass of clear liquid, as you saw me and flashed me a smirk. It was that look that made me want you and I hated how pathetic that was. That you sent the message and I came, walking away from the place I called home, from the man I'm supposed to love and care about.

But for you? Fuck. I did things I shouldn't. Go to a dive bar, walk towards you and take the drink you offer me, downing it to get some courage. To get the courage to do what I should – walk out over the sticky floor, take the bus back with my anger and guilt, and slip back into bed with him, kiss the spot behind his ear that turns him on and fuck him like he means something to me. Instead, I'm here and you're here next to me and you're you and I'm fucked.

"You're back," I say.

"Always come back, babe."

You're already close, too close, and I can smell the vodka on your breath, the salt of your skin, the scent of your shampoo, and I'm already forgetting everything but you. I'm forgetting that I was at a crime scene caused by you hours before, that I had imagined how you coolly looked down your scope and pulled the trigger without remorse. I'm forgetting that I should arrest you, the way I always damn do, and when you reach out to touch me, I'm yours.

I know I should feel guilt, shame, regret as we make our way to the men's room, using the privacy of a stall covered in marker pen messages to kiss and touch. It's only been a few weeks since the club, the motel, since I fucked you hard into a mattress but my lips want to brush every part of you, want to lick down the side of your face to your jaw, find your pulse and bite down there and mark you and make you mine.

"Shit, Tro'," you pant out as I mouth at the wound, making the blood rush to the surface as I return to your lips, to your tongue, fucking your mouth and pushing you against the flimsy stall wall.

Your hands are in my jeans, the zipper already skilfully down and I almost feel my eyes roll into the back of my head as you stroke. It's a little rough, like I prefer to jerk myself off, and I moan, unable to kiss you anymore, my head resting on your shoulder, my skin against the soft material of your t-shirt.

You push, using your body, your hand continuing to tug on my dick and my back hits the stall wall, the bump of my body against it too damn loud even as I hear the sound of the jukebox from the bar outside. As you fall to your knees my hands dig into your hair and my head hits the metal behind me as you lick at the head of my cock before you wrap your lips around me.

I watch, look down at how your eyes are closed, how your mouth opens to take me in, how my dick looks sliding in the warm, wet heat. You moan around me and the vibrations make me clasp my hands hard in your hair, deep in your scalp as I force you further down onto me. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut at the pleasure that reverberates along my spine at each bob of your head. You know too much about me – even though you don't feel anything for me, you know how to lick and suck, how to use your fingers, and how to make me come hard in your mouth.

"Duo," I breathe as you swallow and I hate myself for saying your name.

You lap around the head once more before you are on your feet, your mouth on mine, and I taste myself on your tongue as you always make me damn do and I'm undoing your jeans, ready to reciprocate. I shove you hard to give me room to get to my knees, bringing your cock out of your boxers and taking you deep with one swallow.

"Fuck, baby."

The word 'baby' makes something inside me recoil and so I deep throat you, gag reflexes controlled from experience, as I want you to stop talking, I want you to not call me anything damn affectionate as there is no affection here for you. I think you fucking know I'm in love with you and I think you don't fucking care as I do everything I can damn do to make you come fast, feeling the way you move my bangs out of my eyes, hearing those little gasps and that word, 'baby,' again and again.

I move back, suck and lap around the head – taste you, tease you – before I take you all the way down my throat again, feeling you spasm, release, feeling you shudder from my skill and experience.

"You give fuckin' great head," you say as I get to my feet, as I leave the stall to wash my face, flushed from orgasm, and sip a little water to remove the taste of you from my mouth. It doesn't work.

You come behind me, look at us both in the mirror and lick at my neck like I'd done to you, biting down a little, marking the skin, the pain a little more intense without the high of sexual energy. I watch your eyes in the mirror, darkened blue, as you pull on the flesh and release it, the sting of it making me gasp.

"You do that for him or just me?"

I glare at you through the mirror and I see you smirk at my response. You never mention him and I never mention him.

"He knows right? He ain't stupid. Knows you're fuckin' me whenever you get the chance."

The response, the way your lips curve make me act and a hand is around your throat.

"Don't talk about him."

You laugh even with our faces as close as they are and my hand on your neck. "Okay, baby – off limits."

My hand squeezes for a second before I let go. I see the marks my fingers have left on your throat and I look down at my hand balled in a fist, at how you don't seem to damn care and I know you don't love me and I know Wufei does and I hate myself as I kiss you in apology for my violence, kiss you and taste us, and run my fingers down your back.

I leave you with a final drag of your bottom lip between my teeth, leave you in that dive bar and I make my way home. I don't even feel the guilt as all I feel is nothing, the sagging weight of my body in a bus seat, making my way back across the colony to the "good" area, to our glass and grey apartment complex under a metallic clear sky.

As I arrive home, I expect him to be asleep as he has been most of these damn times and I can shower away the smell of you under hot spray and crawl into bed with him. Yet this time he's there, dressed, his duffle beside him on the couch. He stands, elegance in motion, his loose shirt rippling in the limited light of our apartment and I see how his dark eyes narrow at me – at the state of my clothes, at the bite marks on my throat from you. I smell of cheap liquor and sweat.

"You know what he does," he says, grabbing his bag, "and I hope he's worth losing everything you worked for."

"Wufei."

He approaches, reaching for my arm and I feel the warmth of his touch. I see the curve of his neck. I almost imagine the touch of his hair in between my fingertips and the fire of his kiss. I remember him at fifteen, fierce and loyal, and I think of us, of all the years we spent together, and I feel a sickness in my stomach as his hand releases me and he speaks softly.

"I always thought it would be Quatre. I never expected it to be Duo."

He walks away and I turn to watch him, words sticking in my throat about how I never meant any of this to happen, but the excuses fall dead on my lips. Instead I just watch, my impassive, silent mask un-breaking as he walks out of our apartment.

I take a shower and try to drown myself in the water, letting it sluice over my skin as I touch the mark you made and I think of the one I made on you. And I think of his words as I still taste you in my mouth and I wonder if you are damn worth it. But as I touch the bruised skin, I know I am helpless because I'm in love with you. And fuck, you've never loved me.


	3. I'll Give You All of Me

**Chapter Three**

**I'll Give You All of Me**

The cuffs around my wrists bite as I sit with my hands on the metal table. They were put on too tight, digging into my skin, and I sit there looking at the two way mirror impassively, knowing that they will be standing on the other side trying to work out how to play me.

They've used a few techniques I know. The room is cold. I've been here, alone, for a few hours, in this windowless room without any clocks. It is intended that I will lose track of time. They are letting me stew and I know this as so many times before it has been me on the other side of the glass, not sitting in the interrogation room.

I don't ask for a lawyer. I could. I could get the best damn lawyer available – call Quatre and cash in a favour in an attempt to assuage his guilt after all these years. He still looks at me in that big-eyed way that shows he still feels bad for leaving me drifting in space. I forgave him. I had never held grudges as I'd have too much anger and hate if I did. But I don't use him. Instead, I wait until they decide to talk to me, my eyes still looking through the glass, meeting whoever's gaze it is.

The door opens and I sit straighter as Wufei walks in, the surprise evidenced in a twitch of my hands in the cuffs. I blink as he is joined by someone I haven't seen for some time.

"I didn't expect you, Heero," I say and he levels me with a fierce glare.

As he sits in front of me, I let my eyes drift to Wufei, standing out of the way, leaning against the mirrored glass and I expect him less. They know our personal relationship. They know it's over. They know we requested different partners. But he's there and he keeps his arms folded across his chest, his gaze at a point above my head. I want to say something to him, an apology or something as this is the first time I've been in the same room as him since he walked out of our apartment that night. And I feel an ache as I missed him and I couldn't figure out if it was because I hadn't seen you for so damn long or because I missed him. Fucked as it was, I didn't know.

"I need to know where Duo is," Heero speaks softly.

"You think I know?"

Wufei snorts and I look up, meet his dark eyes, see the look of disbelief on his face. I look back at Heero whose gaze seems to burn but I give him nothing.

"He sees you. Out of all of us, he only sees you."

Each word is growled out, anger in each syllable, and I scowl, bare my teeth. "So you get me arrested me for seeing him?"

"No," Wufei says, "for aiding and abetting a wanted criminal."

The accusation blindsides me though I only let a twitch of my lips show anything on my face. Heero sees it. Presses. Knows.

"You co-operate and nothing happens."

His face his impassive and I meet his blue eyes. Remember him at fifteen, remember when we were friends and not opposing forces sitting across a metallic table with my hands in cuffs.

"I don't co-operate?"

"Jail. Don't ask where."

I take the hint – the way Heero's voice is level, emotionless, veiled threats behind every syllable. I nod reluctantly and consent, protecting myself, knowing that jail would end with me murdered in my sleep. My sense of self-preservation kicks in. I've survived up until this point. Damned if I end up dead in some prison, killed by an ex-war vet with a grudge.

"How does he get in touch?"

"Cell. Burner."

Heero doesn't flinch as I grind out the words. And I know he expects that answer. Knows Duo's smart – as smart as us. That's why they haven't caught him. That's why they sent Heero.

"Next time he contacts you –"

"You want me to give him up? Betray him?"

I turn my head as Wufei speaks, his voice calm in the heated atmosphere of the room. "You've done that before."

And with that statement, he leaves the room, the door slowly locking behind him and I am left with Heero, alone as he discusses what he wants from me in clipped tones and I nod in response, feeling the same hollow feeling I've felt every night since he walked out and I walked away from you.

I know what they think – I realise, weeks after my interrogation – that I have always been the one who sneaks, who infiltrates, who hides his true feelings and that I will be able to deceive you. Trick you, give you to the Preventers to save myself, but I did what was necessary. I'm not that person they think. And I never have been.

I go back to normal – a new partner in a new shiny uniform who doesn't listen to shit, nights in the apartment where I get high and drink and miss the life I fucked up.

My sleep is restless and I miss the feel of a body in bed with me after all those damn years, the steady sound of his breathing, the warmth of his skin, the brush of our legs. I wake one night, see you there, my breath catching in the light as you sit on the chair by the window, opened, the stale colony air filtering through it.

You never came here. Not before as it was my one concession to Wufei but now you walk across my bedroom, remove a hoodie, a tight t-shirt, reach to your belt and slide it from around your waist, join me under the covers in only boxer shorts and I reach up without words, dragging you down to kiss me like I've longed to do for too damn long.

The bed still smells of him. I've been too lazy to change the sheets. Or maybe I was damn nostalgic for a time before you – before this, before we fucked for that first time – but now I only smell you, taste you, pinning you down against the mattress and grinding my hips into yours. Our dicks are hard for each other, the thin material of boxers the only damn restriction and I kiss you like you're fucking oxygen as our bodies demand friction.

You reach your fingers down my back, making their way down, your hands grasping my ass and there's a buck from your hips, your cock against mine and you wrestle me to the bed, straddling me, your hands around my wrists, your lips hovering above mine.

"Heero spoke to me," I say and I see that cocky smirk cross your lips.

"I know." You grind your hips and I pant and moan. "You gonna let them know I'm here?"

I shake my head.

"Good."

The word is punctuated by your hand around my dick, by your mouth trailing down my chest, by your lips sucking at nipples, by your fingertips trailing down my body. For a moment I look at the ceiling, remember that this is our apartment and the number of times I fucked him in this bed and I feel like the bastard I am. And then you're removing my boxers and you're asking me to find lube and condoms and I'm grabbing them, unused since he left, and your fingers thrust in making me arch my back as you mouth at my stomach, lap at my abs, lick down to my cock.

You're not gentle. You never are as I don't want you like that and so I grab at you, your scarred skin, the feel of you hot against me making me burn. He never did this to me, not like you do. Never made me buck and whine and need underneath him. Never bit and tasted and sucked like you do. Tomorrow there'll be bruises and I don't care.

"I can't wait to fuck you, baby," you say and I impatiently press back into your fingers, encouraging you to move forward. "And I think you can't wait either, huh?"

I glare up at you, see that cocky look, the way your eyes shine and I fist your braid, pull you down for a rough clash of lips, bite down on your bottom lip to taste blood as your fingers fuck me, as you make me buck upwards, as you hit that damn spot. My hold loosens on your hair but I keep your head close to my face, breathing words across your lips.

"No tease."

You grab at my hips and I help you, my legs over your elbows as you plunge in, as I feel you, hot and hard inside and I gasp as you do it fast like I want you to.

"You feel good," you pant and I make a noise low in my throat in response as you stall, as you stay still, as I feel every inch of you.

I reach up, move aside some of the hair from your face, your eyes, and it is a more affectionate gesture than I usually dare and it prompts your response, your hips pulling back to surge forward, the powerful thrust almost banging me into the headboard. I grunt as you begin a punishing damn speed.

It's been too long since I felt you and we fuck hard and fast in the bed I used to share with him, burning away the memories of that as I push you, reverse the position, slide down onto you and ride you, your hands on my hips as I do it quick, the feel of you deep and your fingernails digging into my skin making me so damn close.

"Jerk off for me," you say and I do as you order, stroke myself, close my eyes, come over your chest and thrust myself hard down onto you.

You roll your hips into me a few times, the sensation making me breathless in the wake of my damn climax and then I hear you, the whispered words as I collapse onto you, feeling you trace patterns down my sweaty back, teasing the hair at the back of my neck.

"Gotta go, sleepyhead."

The words are damn near gentle and I move onto his side of the bed lazily as you get out. I watch you dress through half-closed eyes, watch you wipe my cum off your stomach with my boxers without a thought, and I think of what I was asked to do and how I can't do it to you.

"Sorry – I'd love to stay and all," you say, dressed, hovering over me, planting a kiss across my lips, "but your apartment's bugged and I guess since I disabled it they'll be making their way here right now."

You don't give me time to say anything, slipping out of my bedroom door, and I hop out of bed, grab at clothes, following you – but you're already gone. I realise, as I wait for Heero and Wufei to arrive, to interrogate me, to try and get some information on you, that as you came you didn't say 'baby,' you didn't say 'Tro' and you didn't say 'fuck.' You said 'Trowa' and it was the first fucking time you ever did.


	4. Just Tell Me You Love Me

A/N: To the guest reviewer - actually the song this is based off is _Wicked Game_ by the Weeknd but I do love Chris Issac's song and I totally can see the link after listening to it again!

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**Just Tell Me You Love Me**

**Chapter Four**

The punch hits me hard and my head snaps to the side. I bite down as it connects, taste blood, and look back at you, your blue eyes fierce, your face set in an angry line.

You've never punched me before. Fuck, one of the first times I met you, I punched you, jabbing my fist hard into your stomach muscles to pass you that small device while you bided your damn time in that cell. But this is the first time you've punched me and the force surprises me a little. It shouldn't. I know what you do and I know you're lethal underneath those black clothes but still I glare at you and wipe my hand across my mouth.

"Fuck you," you growl and you aim another fist at me.

This time I block it, anticipating, grabbing at your hand as I kick out at you, trying to get you off balance. Off balance like you've always fucking had me.

I use a slight stumble to push you against the wall, slamming your back hard against the peeling wallpaper. My thigh slides between your legs, my hands on your arms, holding them against the surface, stopping you from responding. My face is as close to you as I can damn be, your breath warm against my lips, your eyes dark and angry.

"They want to know who you work for. They'll make a deal."

"A fuckin' deal?" you spit back. "You think they'll say 'hey, it don't matter that he's killed all those politicians as shit, all we wanna know is who's paying for it.' Don't be that fuckin' naïve."

My grip loosens a little but I keep my thigh between your legs and I think, fuck, of Heero's instructions, of their threats and the promise that you would be treated fairly if I bring you in and I feel manipulated.

"Oh come on, baby, don't look so hurt. I'm the bad guy here, remember?"

The words jolt me as remember you, that first time, and I knew, fuck, I knew you what you were doing even then – that after the war you'd drifted and you'd ended up back on L2 and you'd ended up doing this and you told me then that you were the bad guy in this damn story. And you always would be. I step away, release you, watch you slump a little against the wall and I'm running hands through my hair, walking over to the window, seeing the neon of the club opposite and listening to the music drift on the air – loud, pulsing, some shit I don't know and don't like.

"So they thought you'd trick me?" you ask and I glance over to you, reaching for a bottle and this time, when you raise your eyebrows offering to pour it into a plastic cup, I shake my head.

I don't want it. Don't want the burn of it down my throat or the taste of it on my lips. Not tonight. Instead, I'll take the taste of my own damn blood and walk away and figure out how to forget what they thought of me. That I was the one to deceive people. And I deserved that as I was fucking you and going home to him. I'd always been too good at playing a role. Guess I deserved that assumption.

You walk over, quiet, the footfalls behind me slow and I feel you behind me, your mouth at my shoulder blades, hot through the thin fabric of my t-shirt.

"He never got you, did he?" I feel a hand on my chest, your fingers tweaking nipples through cotton. "He never got people like us, right? That we do what is damn necessary and if that's playing the bad guy for a while, then hey, better than being dead."

My eyelids fluttered closed, the neon seeming to flicker behind my lids as you slide fingers confidently down my torso, down to the waistband of my jeans, fingers teasing under fabric and my stomach muscles jump at your touch.

"And you've nothing now, right? A job that suspects you and probably wants to fire you and arrest you. An ex who hates your ass. Heero on your damn tail and that shitty apartment that you used to share with him. You're like me now. Admit it – you don't have to be a Preventer anymore."

You're persuasive and you know it, the feel of your breath, your fingers, and I hate you for it as I feel myself responding to you, any resistance fading, the anger under the surface turning to lust. So I push you away before I give in, before you break through, and you laugh at me.

"Don't," I say low, face to face now, grabbing for your arm, tight, and you looking up at me, blue eyes wide. "I don't want to play this game with you anymore."

"Then don't. Come work with me," you offer and the words shock me. "Shit, you'd be good at what I do. You could tag along and you'd earn a fuck ton more than Prev pays you, I can guarantee that."

"You kill people."

"Yeah and ain't we both done a lot of that, anyway?"

You slide a hand to my cheek, up to my hair, around the back of my head. I've killed men since I was a child – killed without remorse as it was necessary – and I shake my head, knowing that you're too close, too persuasive, your kiss and touch too fucking much.

"No. It's not necessary," I say.

"Offer stays open."

With those words your lips meet mine lazily, the roughness of our usual kiss gone, the aggression of our earlier fight making the slide of tongue odd, sensual, something different and I don't think about your offer. Or what the Preventers want me to do. Or all the men you've killed as I grab hold of you and you wrap your legs around my waist, you instinctively damn knowing what I want as I push you towards a wall, grinding our bodies together and kissing each other at the same slow pace.

Your hands dig into my shoulders. I feel your fingernails even through fabric and I slip my mouth from your lips, rest my head against yours, grind my body up against yours, feel the heat of our skin combine.

There's a bed within a few steps but we opt for the damn wall and maybe it's a wise idea. This was an even shittier motel than usual, the sound of the club coming through the thin walls and I don't want to think about the blood and cum and piss that stain the bed sheets and if they are washed. And I know this is the sort of place I'd find bodies if I were wearing my Preventer uniform, if I had the badge that I no longer believed in, and instead of being the good guy here, I'm sliding into you, biting down on my lip. We're both naked from the waist down and I seem to have re-opened the cut from when you hit me or maybe the taste of blood was always damn there as I slowly roll my hips into you, as I take each thrust long and slow and hard.

You grip onto me, your legs tight around my waist as I grunt with each movement, and I don't know if I can keep fucking you like this as it's slow and you're tight and I'm losing my damn mind at the feel of you.

Your legs slip from my waist and we're crashing to the floor and it takes only a few moments for us to find our position, our rhythm, me sitting against the wall with you on my lap and the carpet is rough underneath us but I concentrate only on watching you – the rise and fall of your body, the way you exhale on each breath, the way your braid has fallen across your chest. I grab for it, pull you close, kiss you hot and quick as I let you ride me, your powerful body doing the work as I can't kiss you anymore and my head lolls back against the wall and I look up to a water stained ceiling.

I feel fingertips on the side of my face and the touch sends a tingle down my spine, the gesture intimate and I return my gaze to you, to see that you're close, to see that you are biting down on your bottom lip and you breathe out "fuck" on each downward motion of your hips.

"Jerk off for me," I murmur across your mouth and my eyes drift to where you do, stroking your dick fast, your back arching backwards as you come, the feel of you, the ripples of you making me follow you, leaning forward into your chest as I do.

Time stops as we come down, as my breathing becomes normal and I lick at your neck, kiss at your jaw, run my fingers over each bump of your spine. The hammering of my heart seems in rhythm to the sound of the music from the damn club and I enjoy this one moment as I know, tonight, this is the end as I have fucked up too much for you. Just wish I wasn't in love with you as you give me a small smile and a brief peck on my lips, as I watch you put on boxers and jeans, as you take a swig of cheap liquor. I dress, grab for my jacket, and when you offer me the booze, I take a sip, burning away our last kiss.

You sit on the bed, lay back on your arms and I see the way your t-shirt rides up to expose the skin of your abs, showing a hint of hair, seeing how there's a stain on the black cotton and I swallow the alcohol and pass you back the bottle.

"I can't play like this with you anymore," I say and our hands touch as you take back the bottle and I watch you take a drag and I turn away – from you, from us, from whatever the fuck this has been.

"The offer stays open."

I don't acknowledge your words as I leave, pulling my jacket tight around my body, walking out into the cool colony air. The attempt at autumn earth temperatures makes it colder than normal and I walk under neon lights, see them reflect in the water in the gutters left over from a scheduled rainfall, and I try to forget about you. About Wufei. About the Preventers. As tonight, I leave Trowa Barton behind. And he will never return.


	5. Give Me All of It

A/N: Here's the final chapter... thanks to those who read this as always. You readers keep me writing!

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**Chapter Five**

**Give Me All of It**

The glass elevator overlooks the city and as I ascend I see the sprawl of the city of Shanghai illuminated by the lights of skyscrapers. It feels exposed but I know no one can see me, the lighting off, the security cameras jammed, and all internal and external lines of communication down in the headquarters of Yeung Enterprises. I'm dressed in black ops gear, Kevlar over my chest, though I don't expect much resistance. I know there are bodyguards but I don't anticipate them being an issue – my body, my knife, my reflexes honed as I've been doing this too damn long not to be one of the best.

It's been years since I was a Preventer, years since I saw him last and I sometimes forget that life. Our apartment on L3, the place where I threw what belongings I gave a damn about into a duffle and left – leaving my gun, my badge, my uniform and all traces of my past. So I could walk once again nameless through airports and spaceports, bus stations and train terminals, travelling around from job to job, working in cash and fake passports.

It was just as long since I'd seen you, though I thought about you more – thought about if I'd said yes and where we would be now. Whether I'd be with you still or if you'd have gotten bored of me. I had fleeting affairs, quick fucks, but I still dreamt of you, thought about where you damn were but now with no way to find me, we were both ghosts, nameless identities, and we'd never damn find each other again.

The elevator stops at the top floor and it chimes loudly. I curse, knowing that the noise would likely draw Yeung's bodyguards and I reach for my knife, my preferred weapon of choice for infiltration. I walk slowly out, each careful foot in front of the other. And then I spot a pair of feet, the shiny expensive loafers sticking out in the air, and I step closer to see the body sprawled, a thin trail of blood from a slash to the throat. Quick. Silent.

My eyes narrow and I take it in, remember the blueprints of the top floor of Yeung Enterprises HQ and continue my path, walking slowly over plush carpeting in the darkness, coming across another body, this time on his front and I kick it over to see the blood staining a white shirt, the entry wound accurately in the heart. I look up, raise my blade and continue along the corridor, passing doors to conference rooms and other executive's offices. There's another body as I reach the door to Yeung's office and the corpse keeps the door opened a little, an arm damn jamming it. I glance down to see another perfect execution and step over the dead man, avoiding stepping on his flesh, and I push through the door into the darkened office.

As soon as I'm in, I sense the attack – yet it is quick, quicker than even my reflexes anticipate. I feel the hand swipe at the back of my neck as I duck, a glancing blow across my shoulders, hard, hard enough to take me to the ground. I use the momentum to swipe my legs around, to take the feet from my assailant and they are on the floor too as I spring to attack, straddling the man and bringing out my blade, glinting in the low light of the office.

"Trowa?"

The voice is disbelieving, as disbelieving as my murmured response as I feel you underneath me for the first time in two fucking years and you have a gun in your hand and there's a knife in mine.

Your name feels weird on my tongue, I haven't said it in so damn long, even when I thought about you, even when I jerked off remembering your lips, your hair, hands, every damn scar and every cocky grin. I never said it when I imagined it was you – when I was with someone, anyone, anonymous sex in cities across the earth sphere that I wanted to be you – and I didn't say your name when I came, even when a part of me damn wanted to. I hadn't said it in so fucking long.

"Duo," I breathe.

Instinct kicks in. One of us, both of us, I don't fucking know but there is no question as our lips press together, the blade dropping from my hand, the gun from yours. I don't think about whether the room is secure as its _you _and there will be nothing left to chance and instead, I kiss you like I thought about alone, our tongues warring, our teeth clashing, our noses bumping – years and adrenalin making it impatient and perfect in its own damn way.

There's a cough and I release your mouth reluctantly, sit back up and look to where Yeung is strapped to a chair, to see another bodyguard sprawled across the floor.

"You interrupted," you say and I move to stand, offering you a hand and pulling you towards me for another lingering kiss, unable to stop the rush of having you close, of your skin, your lips, wrapping my hand around your braid.

You push away from me, separating from me, and you give me that smirk that I still dreamt about. "Guess you found a new occupation?"

"I heard the pay was better."

You laugh and my heart skips a beat. "Yeah, I heard that somewhere too… Who hired you?" you ask and then shake your head, murmuring something that sounds like 'it doesn't matter' in low tones and you cock your head, point your gun at the guy who looks between us in horror. "You wanna split this cash? One of us claim it?"

"Generous since you did all the work," I retort and you chuckle.

"What can I say? I'm a generous guy." Your hand touches mine and then I realise you're handing me the gun. "Plus, I'll let ya finish it and all."

I raise the gun, feeling little about the man in front of me, knowing his criminal dealings, knowing his investment in weapons, knowing his attempts to discredit Quatre and WEI and I shoot point blank in the head, the kill efficient to show the mark of a professional. You are already starting to walk away as I turn to give you back the gun and I watch the way you move, the tight black gear, the way your braid is a little bit longer than before. I try to think of all the questions I want to ask but instead you look over your shoulder, smile.

"The offer still stands, Trowa."

And this time I accept and follow you as I wish I'd done years ago.


End file.
